


Sick Of You

by Raepocalypse



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, it's fine everyone will be fine don't worry about it, no beta reader we die like men, rated for language and sickness i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raepocalypse/pseuds/Raepocalypse
Summary: For someone with such control over his emotions, Jinyoung had no control over his feelings for Yugyeom. What's he supposed to do about it? Die?Maybe.(But maybe not after all.)





	Sick Of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lot shorter than I planned sorry guys. I'm only so good at angst and then I have to give some relief or I'll get Too Sad. Anyway, sorry not everyone was here. I didn't want to muddy it too much. Also sorry it's not beta'd. I don't have a Got7 beta reader. It's probably fine tho
> 
> Please Enjoy c:

The first time Jinyoung coughed pretty petals into his hand, he was caught immediately. It had been just a little cough, nothing serious, and now there were pale pink petals in his hand. Just a little thing, a tickle in the back of his throat when they were on their way home from a vocal lesson. He had been on his way to get tea and rest to be sure nothing came of it and now  _ this _ . 

 

“Jinyoung-ah,” Jaebeom said, startling him with a hand on his shoulder. He closed his hand quickly, shoving it into his pocket. Whatever their leader was about to say halted and he gave him a curious look, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. “I’m going to get some tea. For my cough.”

 

“It was just a sore throat before,” Jaebeom replied, brow furrowing lightly. “When did you start coughing?”

 

_ Fuck _ . 

 

Jinyoung cleared his throat, then cleared it again to give himself time. “Just a minute ago. I’m fine. I just need to rest.”

 

The man stared at him for another moment before stepping back and eyeing him suspiciously. “You just stopped out here in the hallway for no reason?” 

 

Jinyoung nodded quickly, then brushed past him and headed into the dorm. “Honestly, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” 

 

“Jinyoungie!” Yugyeom called, peeking around the doorway with a small smile on his lips. “Your tea is brewing, okay? Get some rest.” 

 

Jinyoung nodded, staring at him. The tickle in his throat was back. Yugyeom smiled at him and ducked down the hall in a flash of dark clothing and pale skin. The cough bubbled up, barging it’s way up his throat and into his hand without his being able to stop it. The force of it made his eyes water, his chest ache with the pressure of it. 

 

He pulled his hand away. Delicate petals, wet but not yet with blood, decorated his hand. 

 

Beside him, a breathless voice murmured, “ _ Jinyoung _ .”

 

His eyes stared down at the petals, now with time to study them. Pale pink, dark little veins along them and fading to white and then yellow where they ought to connect to a stem. Whatever they were, he hoped they symbolized something hopeful. Something good. Something like what made them rush up from his lungs. 

 

Again, a hand landed on his shoulder. “We should look them up,” Jaebeom suggested. 

 

Numbly, Jinyoung nodded and headed into the kitchen to get tea first. Fifteen minutes later, he sat on his bed with a mug, Jaebeom at the other end with a computer in his lap. 

 

“It says here they’re primrose.”

 

He looked up from the handful of petals he’d coughed up, delicate little things. A good representation of the cause of them. Soft and simple, gentle. “What do they mean?” 

 

A few clicks and Jaebeom made a soft noise, displeased. He glanced at Jinyoung, then looked back at the screen. His hesitation made the younger frown and he sat forward. Jaebeom snatched the computer away just in time. “Listen, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t mean anything, Nyongie.” When Jinyoung made another swipe for the computer, he stood and stepped out of reach. “I just don’t think it’s something that’s going to be helpful right now. 

 

Jinyoung stared at him for a moment, then sat back and lifted his phone from the nightstand. “You act like you have the entire internet in your hands,” he scolded, rolling his eyes. “Like I can’t just look it up myself.”

 

Jaebeom sighed heavily and dropped onto the bed again. “We should be looking at your options, not what kind of flowers are growing in your lungs.”

 

He cut a glare at the man, then went back to his search. When he found the page he wanted, he scrolled through quickly until he found the bit. 

 

_ Though toxic to animals, primrose petals are safe for humans… _

 

_ Primrose may be consistent in shape, but varies greatly in color… _

 

_ The meaning of the primrose, like many flowers, is known to vary. Often, it symbolizes youth, as well as an inconsistent nature. It’s also known commonly to represent worth being overlooked. It’s most popular message, however, is for young people to use them to say ‘I can’t live without you’ to their loved one.  _

 

Jinyoung’s jaw tightened, hand gripping the phone until he shook. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the phone tugged away and a mug handle replacing it. “I didn’t ask for this.” He swallowed hard, setting the mug down without drinking. He couldn’t think to swallow anything right now. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to love him. I thought it was just a crush.”

 

“I know,” Jaebeom said softly, sliding closer and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. 

 

For all of two seconds, Jinyoung tried to keep from sinking into the grip. He caved a moment later and turned, curling against the broad shoulders and trying to keep another cough from bubbling up from his throat. 

 

***

 

Four months went by. Jinyoung didn’t go to the doctor in the beginning, despite Jaebeom’s insistence that he needed to find out exactly how long it’s been, despite his very reasonable suggestions that they at least see what a medical professional has to say. 

 

_ Don’t you want to be able to keep dancing? Singing? You’re going to get sicker, Jinyoung-ah _ . 

 

He knew that. He knew that the moment a petal passed his lips the first time. He knew that that was going to be the beginning of a downward slope and there was nothing he could do to go back. There were treatments, yes, but nothing he could even  _ consider _ . 

 

Surgery. He couldn’t possible get surgery. Not only would it lay him out for a few months in the middle of promotions, but then everyone would find out. How was he going to keep it from the group? How was he going to keep it from  _ Yugyeom _ ? No, absolutely not. Out of the question. (And besides, the stories say that you lose all your affection for the person, that you could lose the ability to love altogether, and he doesn’t want to know what kind of person he would be without those feelings.)

 

There were new experimental things. Pills that slowed the growth of the flowers, that were supposed to numb the effects. They were dangerous, though. They were a poison that killed the flowers just a little quicker than the host. A disease cure that was little better than a roll of the dice didn’t appeal to him either. Maybe in a few years, when it’s a little more stable, when they know a little more about it and the side effects. (He doesn’t have a few years and he knows it. Already, he’s struggling through dance practices and seeing Yugyeom laughing and dancing and playing around is only making things worse.)

 

A new kind of therapy is coming around too, as people investigate the sickness more and decide that perhaps it could be more mental than anything. After all, what is love but brain chemistry? It’s meant to be a counseling sort of thing, something to talk someone down and help them fall out of love. (He’s met Yugyeom. How could anyone fall out of love? And besides, a key part of it is taking time away from the object of your affection. It’s a non-option.) 

 

The last one is to make them fall in love with you. If Jinyoung knew how to do that, he wouldn’t have gotten in this situation. If he knew how to make Yugyeom love him back, Jaebeom wouldn’t have to help him hide petals that were getting slowly bloodier as time goes on. If he knew how to make Yugyeom love him, he would have been bringing him flowers instead of breathing them in. 

 

But he didn’t. Instead, he did what he’s always done. They play and they tease and they fight. Jinyoung’s animosity wasn’t always just for show, but in the later years, since he’d grown more and more affectionate and calmed down as a person, it became mostly just for fun. This is how they are. This is who they are. However much he loves him, he thinks he’ll always like to chase him on stage and poke fun at him. Not to mention, Yugyeom started as much as he did, if not more and everyone knows Yugyeom loves his hyungs. 

 

He just didn’t love Jinyoung the way he wanted him to. 

 

His head hurt when he lay down. His chest made rasping noises at the end of dance practices. He downed bottle after bottle of water during vocal lessons and none of them ever eased the itching scratching burning pain of petals forcing their way up. 

 

Jaebeom wanted to help, but his form of it in the beginning was to try bullying Jinyoung into going to a doctor. When that didn’t work, he kept them apart as much as possible. Seeing as they were the last ones sharing the dorm, however, that plan didn’t work out well either. 

 

Jinyoung couldn’t tell what he was playing at anymore, but he’d stopped meddling almost altogether and that worried him deeply. It was never a good sign when anyone in their group decided to suddenly  _ behave _ , whether he was the leader or not. 

 

Whatever the reason, however, Jinyoung returned from a long day of practices to the dorm feeling like hell and knowing he looked like it. 

 

“Jinyoungie?” Yugyeom’s voice asked tentatively. 

 

He didn’t have the energy to correct him on what to call him. He poured himself onto the couch and failed to stifle a cough. The petal in his hand came away with a speck of blood and he shoved it into the couch cushions to deal with later, when Yugyeom wasn’t eyeing him with concern. 

 

The maknae came closer slowly, frowning down at him and looking pretty and worried and Jinyoung felt like  _ dying _ . How had it only been four months of this? He felt like he’d been in love with him forever. He felt like he was going to pass out any day now. 

 

Soft, warm fingers brushed through his hair, carding it back gently to press a palm to his forehead. “You look pale. Hyung, are you okay?”

 

Dammit. Of course he would notice. It was obvious. Jinyoung had been on and off but  _ increasingly _ ill for months now. A bear would notice if it lived in the same neighborhood. Yugyeom was not a bear, and he lived just down the hall. “I’m fine, Gyeomie,” he said softly. “Just not feeling well.”

 

“You haven’t been feeling well for a long time,” Yugyeom argued. “Maybe you should see a doctor or something. The new album will be out soon and if you-”

 

“I’m not going to a doctor, Yugyeom-ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be better soon. Just get your hyung some water, okay?” He offered the smallest of smiles, hoping to clear some of his worry. It didn’t seem to work, but it did get him to turn with a huff and head to the kitchen. He was gone much too long to just be getting water and when he came back, it was with a cup of tea and a small bowl of the porridge from the day before in his hands. 

 

He took the seat art his side and pushed the mug of tea at him. “You need to eat something,” he told him stubbornly. “And you need to drink something warm. And you’re going to lay down after this if I have to hold you there.” 

 

Jinyoung took the tea from him carefully, watching their baby maknae glare at him and felt his stomach sink as fluttering petals rose. It was fact, and cold and hard as Jinyoung wasn’t. He was only going to fall harder and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

 

***

 

Another few weeks passed by. Jinyoung was beginning to suspect that Jaebeom had something to do with this now, because every time he turned around, Yugyeom was at his side, poking fun or trying to goad him into games or pushing a water bottle into his hand or, if he thought he wasn’t looking, giving him terribly concerned looks. 

 

Joke’s on him, though. Jinyoung felt like he hadn’t looked away from Yugyeom in a year. It was like one moment he wasn’t paying enough attention and then Yugyeom matured all at once and went from their cute giant maknae to someone devastatingly beautiful. He blinked and Yugyeom grew up and now his eyes were raw with the urge to stay open and on him so he didn’t miss anything else. 

 

Maybe the joke was actually on Jinyoung, since he was the one with flowers in his lungs. 

 

They were between promotions, a much needed rest day coming up before another round of shows and interviews and dance practices and recording, when Jinyoung simply… gave up. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do that he was willing to try so what was the point anymore of hiding it. He came out of the shower after the long day of filming to find Yugyeom sprawled out on the sofa watching a drama with a drowsy look in his eye. He paused in the hall for only a moment, just long enough for Yugyeom to spot him and smile, then started forward. 

 

“Are you going to bed, Jinyoungie?” he started, only to raise his brows and cut himself off when Jinyoung laid across him fully, a warm blanket of hyung. Jinyoung had always liked being close to the members, but he always liked laying in Yugyeom the most. He was big, and soft in all the right ways, and he never pushed him away. This was no different. After a moment’s hesitation, Yugyeom relaxed into the sofa again and shifted around to sling one arm over his back. 

 

A cough shook Jinyoung’s body and he choked it back. 

 

They lay there in silence for a few moments, Yugyeom focused on the TV and Jinyoung with his eyes closed, focused on how he moved up and down gently with Yugyeom’s breath. 

 

“Hyung?” Yugyeom murmured, tentative and shy. Jinyoung hummed in answer. “Do you… want to talk? Is everything okay? I can just listen, like I used to.”

 

The flowers in his stomach raged. 

 

“No, Gyeomie, I’m just tired. Can I just lay here for a minute?” Was it selfish of him to ask that? Or was it selfish of him to let himself keep falling like this? Was it selfish of him to not tell any of them?

 

He could feel Yugyeom swallow hard and knew he didn’t believe him. For an actor, for a liar, for someone who was so good at this, he’d really been fucking up on his half truths lately. 

 

The younger man’s arms wound around him, not a protective, comforting gesture but clinging like someone afraid to let go. Yeah, he was  _ definitely _ being selfish. He couldn't help it. “You can stay as long as you want, Jinyoungie.” 

 

He could have fallen asleep like that, could have curled up against him on the couch happily, if not for the flowers. He lasted another ten minutes, during which they shifted around until Jinyoung could hold Yugyeom against him and draw little patterns on his skin. His eyes closed and the world felt like it was slowing down. If it weren’t for the way his breath wheezed even as it evened out, it might have been peaceful. Then the flowers refused to be ignored anymore and in a coughing fit, he had to push the maknae away and head for the bathroom. 

 

The soft pink petals were streaked with blood when they left his mouth. The taste made him feel sick. The sight turned his stomach. He wished he could still think of flowers as beautiful rather than this gruesome thing they had become. 

 

“Hyung?” came the voice from the other side of the door, worried and restless. “Jinyoung-hyung are you okay?” 

 

“I’m fine,” he choked out, wiping his mouth on the heel of his hand and trying to decide if this was too many petals to flush. Would they clog the toilet? The last thing he wanted was for one of them to go to the bathroom and have to unclog the toilet only to find petals spilling back out smelling like rot and fetid water. He couldn’t think of a worse way to be found out. 

 

“Can I come in?” Yugyeom asked. He didn’t try the door. They were always in one another’s business, the whole group of them, but when things were serious, they were serious. 

 

Jinyoung choked again and another flurry of petals poured up from his throat. Maybe he should go to the doctor, just to see how much longer this was going to take. He wanted to die. 

 

On the other side of the door, he could hear the cause of it all shifting around. He could practically feel him stressing out. He would probably call Jaebeom, although Jinyoung had no idea what he would do with this information. When he heard soft mumbling muffled by the wood, he knew he was right. Yugyeom calling for help. Scared and worried and alone because of him. Because he was too selfish to stop loving him. 

 

Another surge of primrose into the bloody water. 

 

Yugyeom had tears in his eyes and a lip between his teeth when they finally got the door open. Jinyoung knew he looked like shit. He’d seen himself in the mirror. Jaebeom had shown up with Mark in tow to drag Jinyoung out of the bathroom. He’d wondered initially what Mark was even there for until their eldest took his opposite and herded him to his room. 

 

“You can’t keep doing this,” Jaebeom said sternly, but there was a note of stress in his voice that gave away the fear he was feeling too. “You’re hurting yourself, you’re scaring all of us. You’re scaring  _ him _ . Is this what you want? Do you think it’s better to die loving him and leave him behind than to stay and not feel it?”

 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t just let it go, he couldn’t just push Yugyeom away. He couldn’t make it better. He couldn’t. “I don’t know,” he finally rasped out. 

 

Jaebeom pressed his hands to his face, taking a deep breath and looking like he was trying to hold in a scream. “You’re lucky he didn’t see all the fucking flowers in the bathroom. Maybe you should just  _ tell _ him. He would try for you. You know he would.”

 

Jinyoung didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he opened them and fixed Jaebeom with the flattest look he could manage when he was exhausted, dehydrated, dying. “I will not, for any reason, make him feel like he has to do anything with me, and if  _ you _ do, I’ll get the surgery just to have enough strength to kill you myself.”

 

“Might be worth it,” Jaebeom said, and he sounded so resigned Jinyoung felt it like a knife to the stomach. 

 

“It stinks like flowers in this place,” Mark’s voice said softly from the doorway. 

 

Jinyoung  jerked, eyes wild as he realized Mark may have overheard. Did he know? How much had he heard?

 

The American stared at him for several more moments, then crossed the room to sit in Jinyoung’s desk chair and rub at his eyes. “He knows, you know. That you’ve got hanahaki.”

 

This time, he froze. His hands closed into fists, jaw tightening. He glanced at Jaebeom, who looked at the very least concerned enough that it wasn’t his fault, then back to Mark. 

 

He looked unimpressed as he went on. “He’s not stupid, Jinyoung. He knows what flowers smell like, and he knows you’ve been getting steadily sicker over the past few months. For fuck’s sake, he lives with you and even we know about it. Of  _ course _ he knows what’s wrong with you.”

 

“You know about it?” he asked, barely managing to keep the tremble out of his voice. 

 

“You always smell like flowers. More and more often. You’re getting weaker, slower. Jackson says you’re working out less and when you do, it’s only until you start breathing hard, which isn’t long. Every time you get into a coughing fit, you straight up  _ leave _ and this asshole,” here he cut a look at Jaebeom, “goes with you. We all figured he knew and was trying to get you to go get surgery or therapy or  _ something _ , but everyone ganging up on you wouldn’t work no matter how hard we tried.”

 

It felt like ice was coursing through Jinyoung’s veins, his head was throbbing, eyes burning. Was he going to cry?  _ Fuck _ , he hoped he didn’t cry. “Do you know who?”

 

Mark met his gaze easily. “Not all of us.”

 

His fists clenched tighter, nails biting into his palms. “Does he?”

 

There was a moment of silence so heavy the whole group put together wouldn’t have been able to lift it. Mark did it with one word. “No.” 

 

Air whooshed from Jinyoung’s lungs so fast it startled a cough, which pushed the fear-built tears to the surface and made his eyes water. He curled up, feeling small and cowardly. 

 

“But every time you leave the room to cough he looks like his heart is breaking, Jinyoungie. He’s scared. We’re all scared. If it was up to him, he would sacrifice anything to keep you around. That matters, doesn’t it?”

 

They waited for an answer, but Jinyoung didn’t give one. He turned, facing the wall and pressed a hand to his eyes, tried to regulate his breathing to force himself to calm down. Fear and anger and guilt were eating him alive, it felt like. Faster than the flowers. 

 

Eventually, he heard Mark get up from the chair, fingers barely brushing his arm as he left the room. Jaebeom told him good night, told him to use their rest day well, and he headed out too. The door closed with a soft click and Jinyoung let himself hurt in silence, in the empty room, until it clicked again. 

 

He didn’t move as Yugyeom’s steps crossed the room, didn’t move when he slipped into the bed behind him and pressed his forehead to his back. Didn’t move when the arms wound around him and held on, afraid to let go, like Jinyoung would melt away if he didn’t keep a good enough grip. Didn’t move until he felt the back of his shirt dampen and he turned around finally, wrapping Yugyeom in his arms and holding tight onto him. He didn’t tell him how sorry he was. He didn’t tell him he loved him. He didn’t tell him he wished it was anyone else. He might have been able to let go then. 

 

***

 

Jinyoung woke up with breath coming just a little easier. It wasn’t much, just the barest bit of air passing more easily into his lungs, but after months of a steady downhill slide, it made a world of difference. Yugyeom was still curled up against him, too big for the bed and holding onto him to keep from falling off the side. His face was pressed tightly into Jinyoung’s chest, a wet spot of drool soaking through the shirt. Their legs were tangled together and in the blankets in a way that made Jinyoung feel certain there was no way to get out, even awake, without Yugyeom falling to the floor. 

 

He didn’t really want to get up, though. Even if it was kind of gross to feel someone else’s cooling drool seeping through his clothing, and even if the blanket was wrapped around his ankle in a way that twisted in uncomfortably, and even if he really needed to get some water with how dehydrated he was, he couldn’t bear to wake him up. Instead, he carefully shifted to the edge of the bed, snatched whatever book his hand could reach, and then rolled onto his back and took Yugyeom with him. 

 

It was easy to rearrange him, and thank god he was sleeping so heavily. Jinyoung managed to sit up just a little and fuss until Yugyeom was lying curled against his chest and more on top of him than not, so that he didn’t fall off the bed. He cracked open the book, one he’d read a thousand times, and started in on it again. 

 

It was a content enough morning that he barely noticed how little he coughed. 

 

***

 

After the morning he’d spent with Yugyeom in his arms, which ended when he finally did start coughing and startled the other so badly he did in fact dump himself on the floor, things slowly started to get better. Not just better, but easier. 

 

Knowing the members knew made it easier too. He had to hide it less. Once the fear of being found out was appeased, he could do it for privacy instead of trying to do it in secret. 

Most of all, though, he could breathe. As the week went on, his coughing got worse, then started to slow. It was frightening to see the flowers come out soaked in blood, but they hurt so much less than he didn’t try to question it too much. If he was going to get an easier death than he thought, he wasn’t going to argue. Still, there was the fact that it was… going away? Maybe?

 

Jinyoung didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t like the doubts it raised in him. There were only a few cures for this sickness and one was unrealistically outlandish while the other was hopeful in a way he had never prepared himself to be. 

 

It took another two weeks for the flowers to peter out completely and on the third day of having full energy, of not coughing once, of feeling hungry and happy and  _ good _ , he sat on the couch in the practice room and stared at the maknae line dancing and laughing and challenging one another. It didn’t seem right. Since when was Jinyoung that lucky? 

 

“You don’t smell like flowers,” a soft voice greeted, body joining him on the couch to watch the three of them as Bambam jumped on Yugyeom’s back. “And I haven’t seen you run away coughing in days.”

 

“I don’t think I’m sick anymore,” he replied, refusing to look at him. He could see him from the corner of his eye, though, watching him with the most terribly knowing look. 

 

Mark nodded. “Why do you think that is? Do you think you fell out of love?”

 

The words surprised a laugh out of him and he managed to give his hyung a disbelieving look. “Who could ever?”

 

A wry smile turned his lips. “No one, probably. So what are you going to do about it? Because if you’re cured without medical help, and without falling out of love, then there’s only one option left, isn’t there?”

 

Jinyoung pursed his lips and turned to look back at the three of them. Youngjae and Bambam were looking over something on one of their phones, Yugyeom standing close enough to seem like he was too, but his eyes locked with Jinyoung’s when he looked up. He turned away quickly, hair covering his eyes as he tried to focus on the phone and hide behind two men much shorter than he was. 

 

“I guess so,” he agreed and he felt brave for the first time in months. “I’ll figure something out. 

 

***

 

Practice lasted another few hours, but Jinyoung couldn’t focus on dancing, or on the music, or on anything. Well, that wasn’t true. He could focus on one thing and one only, but it was absolutely not what he was supposed to be on. 

 

When Jaebeom called it to an end and told them they’d done a good job (a lie) and that they would be back in again after vocal lessons tomorrow, they dispersed to all of their respective homes, which meant Yugyeom took Jinyoung home in his car. 

 

The trip there was silent aside from the R&B that slid from Yugyeom’s speakers, not a word uttered. Maybe it was more tense than usual, but all Jinyoung could think of was what the fuck he was supposed to say when they got home. Because it had to be something. He had to say something. It had been months, he couldn’t just say nothing. Not now that there was a  _ chance _ , that he had almost-tangible proof that it wouldn’t go wrong immediately. 

 

He barely registered the car stopping and got out two beats late. He ran into Yugyeom’s back at the door when he stopped to unlock it despite his eyes being on him the whole time they were going upstairs. He forgot to close the door when they got inside, prompting the younger to sigh deeply and turn around to shut it for him. 

 

“What is with you today?” he asked, chuckling lightly. “Go take a shower, Jinyoungie, you probably need to lay down. How are you feeling? Better?” There was a note of nerves in his voice that Jinyoung couldn’t place. Maybe he wanted to talk too? Then why did he look more fearful than hesitant? 

 

“It can wait,” he said resolutely, although he felt awful, disgusting, shirt sticking to his back with sweat and hair greasy. He took a step forward, studying the face above his. “Yugyeom… do you-” There was no good way to do this. Despite how confident he was of what the answer would be, there was no way to ask this question without sounding cocky, conceited. He could just kiss him, he supposed, but he wasn’t about to take  _ that _ big of a chance. Not now. 

 

“Do you love me?” he asked finally.

 

Yugyeom’s face turned red instantly and to his surprise, horror filled his eyes. He backpedaled, tripping over the shoes he had just taken off and managed to catch himself just barely with dancer’s grace and the doorknob. “What?” he asked, fear in his tone. 

 

His brow furrowed, feet bringing him a step closer and not understanding the way Yugyeom stepped back, liking it even less. “But… I’m not sick anymore.”

 

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. 

 

Confusion took over the fear on Yugyeom’s face. “I thought… that meant that you had confessed to whoever you were in love with,” he replied, hand still on the door knob and back pressed to the wood. Not prepared to run away, but holding on like it was the only thing grounding him to the spot. 

 

“I thought it meant the person I loved fell in love back,” Jinyoung continued. 

 

Yugyeom hadn’t seemed to get it, and in all fairness, Jinyoung had never told him who it was he loved. He’d done his best to hide it. “Is that not the same thing?” he asked. “You love them and they love you and I promise I won’t do anything to make that weird, hyung. You don’t have to worry.”

 

Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful and unsure. He took another step and the man was in his reach now, and blocked in against the entryway. Even with the door right behind him, he’d have to push through him to get out. “Yugyeom… why do you think I asked you that?”

 

The horror was back, but it was mixing with the confusion, and Yugyeom’s knuckles white around the doorknob. He could see a lie bubbling to the surface, fighting with honesty to get there first. Finally, he blurted, “Yes, I know, I am, but the flowers haven’t started yet and I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to and I’ll get the surgery or something so that you won’t have to worry about me. This isn’t your fault, hyung, I’ll take care of it, I’m sorry-”

 

Jinyoung cut him off with a barking laugh that pushed up and up and out of his throat and filled the entryway with the sound of it. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had laughed like that. Yugyeom looked like he was on the verge of tears by the time he calmed himself down, but the pang of guilt was nothing compared to the flood of relief in him. Still laughing, he moved forward and held his red-flushed face in both hands. 

 

“You’re so stupid,” he said softly, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips. “It’s  _ you _ I loved,” he assured him, and followed it with another kiss. “It’s you who made me sick.” Another kiss, this one a little longer. “It’s you who cured me.”

 

Something that was either a laugh or a sob or maybe both broke free from Yugyeom’s lips and he finally let himself kiss him back. One hand lifted, holding the back of Jinyoung’s head while the other gripped at his waist. 

 

“I love you, you stupid, stupid maknae,” he mumbled, pulling away and pressing his forehead to Yugyeom’s. 

 

He pinched Jinyoung’s side roughly, making him jump and startling a yelp out. “You almost died because you couldn’t tell me? I spent  _ months _ liking you and being scared to love you because I didn’t want us  _ both _ to have it and you couldn’t just  _ tell me _ ?” 

 

Jinyoung couldn’t help but laugh again. It felt so much better to be relieved than guilty, even if he’d tortured them both for months over it. 

 

“Shut up,” he laughed, pinching him back. 

 

“You need a shower,”Yugyeom teased, though he didn’t move his hands away. 

 

“ _ You _ need a shower.” Jinyoung didn’t move away either. He leaned up, stealing another kiss and melting into it. 

 

“Gross,” Yugyeom mumbled, pulling him tighter against him and letting their lips slot together more firmly. “I hate you.”

 

“I hated you first,” Jinyoung argued, content and comfortable and happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on curiouscat and twitter!! @6uglyguysandjae


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